In the Moment
by Insignificance
Summary: a collection of HP ficlets, mostly involving Draco, Harry, or both. Some HD warning.
1. Chocolate Things That Hop

Drabble #1: Chocolate Things That Hop

Pairing: Gen, prissy!Draco (H/D if you squint really hard)

Note: unbetaed, and written for my love of prissy!Draco and bitchy!Draco.

Word count: 634

Draco Malfoy prides in his ability to find out anything and everything Harry Potter dislikes, because it lets him to rub it in Potter's face during their verbal, and occasionally non-verbal, sparring. For example he knows that Potter hates wedgies, which he always gets when he rides his broom during the Gryffindor practices, and must try to inconspicuously fix it once he touches ground. And then he would notice that there is, in fact, an audience among the spectator stands, and he would turn red and retreat quickly into the Gryffindor changing room.

During those times, Draco would smirk imperiously down at Potter, nevermind the fact that Potter probably didn't even realize Draco was there. That was hardly the point; the point is, Draco knows Potter's habits like the back of his hand, and he especially like knowing the stupid Gryffindor's dislikes because they're ammunition for later duels. Like the time when Potter had Draco against the wall at wand point, and Draco revealed to all who were watching just what Potter does the moment he lands. Draco had smirked triumphantly, smoothing his hair down as a red-faced Potter stared at him for a moment before escaping down the hall. Draco was far too pleased to notice the raised eyebrows of a few of his fellow Slytherins, namely Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson.

Draco also makes it a point to dislike anything and everything Harry Potter likes (with exception to the wedgies because, honestly, no one like wedgies, and Draco was too dignified to want to pick at his underwear at inopportune times anyway, even if it is his arch-rival's dislike). What kind of nemesis admits to like eating what his enemy likes? When he found out that Potter once mentioned that blood-flavored lollipops were particularly disgusting, Draco decided that turning vampire is not such a bad idea, and had ordered three boxes of said candy. In the subsequent months, all of Hogswarts had seen the Malfoy junior, at one point or another, sucking noisily at the dark red not-quite-sweet lollipop.

Draco gave himself a pat for a job well done when he caught Potter staring at him in a kind of revolted fascination.

Therefore, Draco Malfoy prides in his ability to do everything he can to annoy the hell out of one Harry Potter, because really, that is his job as the nemesis of the one and only Boy Who Lived. So when he realized one sunny afternoon, while doing his favorite pass time of watching the other boy while said boy was happily licking some stray chocolate from his fingers (Draco is watching purely for the purpose of finding out more tidbits to annoy his arch-rival, of course), the blonde realized with a jolt of shock (and some other feeling he dismissed, because the word "tingly" is not a part of the Malfoy vocabulary, thank you very much) that Harry Potter has an addiction to Chocolate Frogs.

And unfortunately, so does Draco.

Horrors! How could Draco be so careless as to neglect such a big detail?

Draco stared down at the Chocolate Frog still in its box sitting in his lap, and frowned thunderously down at the amphibian. There's no way he can eat it _now_. Not when his greatest rival of all ages happens to _like _the bloody thing.

So Draco did the most logical thing when faced with such a daunting situation. He pulled out his wand, scrutinized the brown blob in the box, flicked his hand, and transfigured the content of said box into something far more acceptable.

The blonde smirked with self-satisfaction before pulling out the Chocolate Bunny, still very ready to hop away to escape the sad fate of being in the blonde's stomach despite it not being an amphibian anymore.

Draco has never tasted anything better.


	2. White Bunnies

Drabble #2: White Bunnies 

Pairing: Gen, Draco and his unmentionables (H/D if you squint hard)

Note: unbetaed, and written for my love of Draco's unmentionables. :3

Word count: 836

Draco Malfoy is usually an exceptionally careful boy, because being private means his mysterious and enigmatic aura flares straight up far more than being open can make it. And Malfoys pride in their ability to be sexy and desirable and unattainable through their mysterious and enigmatic air. It was written in the Big Malfoy Book of Do's and Don'ts, Chapter 34, page 1003, section 22, line 5: All Malfoys must be sexy and desirable and unattainable through the usage of mysterious and enigmatic auras.

Never let it be said that Draco did not do his studies.

Therefore, normally Draco is an outstandingly careful boy. He spell lock his doors before he changes, and all the boys sleeping in the same room as him knows that if you are not already back in your bed with your curtains tightly shut by the time Draco goes to bed himself, then sleeping by the fire in the common room is the best you can do for the night. The blonde does not like it when people comes and goes while he is unconscious and unaware.

No one in his house decides to challenge Draco, because despite his prissy-_ahem_-neat nature, he can still hex someone to next week if he's truly vexed. And he knows some spectacularly powerful locking charms. And if you dare to ask him why he knows such charms, and what he would use it for, you might find yourself locked out of your bed for the following three days if he's in a good mood, and two weeks if he isn't.

Indeed, Draco is a careful boy, and like all careful boys, sometimes stress can get the best of you. On one such day where to the melodramatic plight of the blonde boy, nothing seemed to have gone right, it is difficult to blame him for forgetting to fully spell lock his door while changing after his classes in order to head to dinner.

So it was while the pris-_neat_ blonde was slipping his pants off to change into a new and cleaner pair that the door burst open in the wake of the high pitched shrieking of one Pansy Parkinson who just _had_ to know if Draco had seen Hanna Abbot's new _hideously_ disgusting- and _oh my god, Draco_!

At said boy's hilariously horrified face, half turned away from the door and bent over, with his hands still in the process of taking his pants off, and showing off perfectly just what he had been wearing all this time under the creaseless black slacks and fashionable turtleneck, Pansy Parkinson stopped dead in her track, and just plain stared.

She then shrieked in a high-pitched laughter, stumbled out the door she had thrust open earlier, and yelled at the top of her lunges what sights her wonderful eyes had seen.

By the end of dinner, nine tenths of the entire Hogswarts population, the non-human kind included, has heard about Draco Malfoy and_ that._

By breakfast the next day, nine tenths of the entire Hogswarts population can actually see _it_, because some genius (both of whom insists they are, in fact, the highest of all geniuses and should be awarded House Points) had managed to spell the back of Malfoy's pants completely see through.

It wasn't like Draco didn't try to stop this, as he had tried to point his wand at his arse and shoot a _Finite Incantatem_, as well as change into all of his other forty pairs of pants in hopes that it is merely the pants, and not him, that was cursed.

All it did was make him miss two of his classes, which only earned him detentions for the following three nights.

So what is a Malfoy to do, but to walk with his head held high in dignity, and pray for some great dark lord somewhere to shoot him dead with humiliation? Draco decided that one Pansy Parkinson must not be allowed to live, even as all the first years, and second year, and third, and so on, parted like water before him, and then congregated behind him to watch the sight that is his fabric clad arse.

It was at that point when Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, Boy Wonder, Draco Malfoy's Greatest Arch Rival, arrived at the scene. He paused in front of the blonde, raising an eyebrow at the blonde's furiously red face, and then decided that provoking said blonde is not a smart thing at that moment, stepped aside to let Draco through. It was only when Draco had walked past him when the Gryffindor's eyes widened, fixed low on the other boy's back.

He whistled long and low, cutting through the whispers in the hall.

Draco stopped and told himself that, no, he still must preserve his Malfoy pride and mysteriousness, nevermind that the entire school is watching his exposed backside.

"Nice briefs, Malfoy. The white bunnies are really cute," Harry stopped. An amused smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. "Real cute."

Draco twitched.


	3. Beautiful

**Drabble #3: Beautiful**

**Note: a bit more angsty than the other ones, this is for the stupid image that refuse to leave my head. As usual, unbetta-ed. **

**Word count: 807**

Harry Potter strode down the cold stone hall late at night, steps quick and sure among the up heaved floor and blown out walls. Outside the shattered windows, the wind howled beneath the storm clouds. _This is Hogswarts,_ he thought dimly, absently. This is the greatest Wizardry school in all of Great Britain. He kicked aside a piece of rubble next to the smashed in wall and crumbled tapestry.

This is Hogswarts.

Harry had just come out of a room at the end of the long hall behind him. He had come out of a room that had the broken corpse of a man who was not a man, a beast who was not a beast. Harry had left the dead body of the most feared Wizard of the magical world in that windowless cell, his half human, half not form already rotting and sending putrid acridness into the air.

The castle that is Hogswarts is empty now, its halls ruined and broken, tapestries ripped, paintings smashed, and the only living soul Harry could feel is his own. And that fact is sending his heart into a greater fear than when standing face to face with the Dark Lord. Because when Harry received the glowing messenger ball from his comrades of the Order of Phoenix, he found out that not all those who were alive were evacuated safely.

One other man had stayed behind.

So Harry had ignored the orders of retreat, had thrown the glowing white ball into the semi-intact wall and watched it break into million pieces of white shards, feeling a mixture of fear and anger welling up inside him. He had kicked open the door to that windowless cell where he had faced Voldemort and sent out a wave of pure unadulterated magical energy, smashing the Death Eaters who had gathered into walls and furniture and windows alike, pressuring them until every single one had entered the realm of unconsciousness.

Harry held nothing back, not for the few whom he had known and had entered school with him, nor for those whom he didn't know. He glanced at none either as he continued past their crumbled form. There is only one person he want found; Harry does not care for anyone else.

So he walk now, with quick and angry and desperate strides, eyes darting among the bodies littered among the ground, hoping desperately that the one he needs to find is not among the dead.

When he entered the Great Hall, he came to an abrupt stop, the wind howling more strongly than in the corridor. The enchanted ceiling, which had given him so much joy before as a child is gone now, ripped away by the powerful magic of both his enemies and his allies. Angry clouds roiled above him, a mockery of the peaceful blue of the enchanted ceiling of the past.

Below that spitting and hissing sky stood a man with his back to Harry, tall and strong, long blonde hair flying every which way. One hand held a long cane, the tip gleaming with silver. Lightning flashed, and for a moment Harry thought the silver snake on the cane had moved.

_Lucius Malfoy,_ he thought, feeling the fear come back again. _Lucius Malfoy is standing_. And the anger changed to rage.

But before he could train his wand, trembling in fury, onto the back of the Malfoy, Lucius stumbled and crashed to his knees. As he fell, his form revealed another blonde, a smaller blonde whose hair is in the same shade of pale gold, whose eyes were the same pale gray, but whose skin was whiter, eyes larger, lips fuller.

Harry stopped, feeling the rage drain out of him, feeling his heart stop in his chest. There was dirt on the other man's lily-white skin, dirt and mud and blood that had already dried and crusted. There was blood in his hair too, tangled into a mass of golden red. His robes were ripped and shredded, and trails of dark liquid still rolled down one pale arm unmarred by a black skull, circling down to the wooden wand tip, still glowing a faint green.

The storm continued to rage, but to Harry, it sounded fainter somehow, as if it was finally receding after hours and hours of wailing.

_He never looked so filthy,_ Harry thought fondly. Draco Malfoy slowly raised his eyes from the fallen form of his father, the man who had raised him, trained him, taught him, and sold him to a snake in the form of a man. Raised his eyes from the deceiver who tried to kill him, to the man who, once upon a time, had saved him from a fate far worse than death.

_He never looked so filthy,_ Harry admitted, lips curling up. _But he also never looked more beautiful._


	4. Sexy Drunk

**Drabble #4:** Sexy Drunk

**Word count:** 557

**Warning: **a sexydrunk!draco on the prowl, so warnings involving such a draco is to be applied here. Set probably some time into the far AU future.

**Note:** in dedication to last night when I got really tipsy and had tequila for the first time.

* * *

Harry Potter never really thought of it before, but tonight, watching Draco Malfoy across the room lounging leisurely on the couch with one hand holding a crystal glass of wine, the Boy Who Lived wondered what kind of drunk Draco was.

For some people, it was obvious. To the left of Harry was his best mate, Ron, who unsurprisingly was a happy drunk, singing loudly to some bawdy old love ballad full of barmaids and "rolls in the hay" while Hermione watched on with her eyes rolling heavenwards for patience.

To the right sat Seamus Finnigan who turned out to be a miserable drunk, lamenting his lost love (or at least bed partner) in the form of Blaise Zabini who was currently dancing with Pansy Parkinson, and _why did he leave me for her when I got a way cuter arse_ and _why can't there be any good decent guys out there who is the one for me, or at least let me experiment on tying him up_ and _I feel unloved_! Beside him Dean Tomas hummed and ha-ed at all the right parts, nodding sagely as his friend lamented away, all the while his eyes twinkling with mirth and one hand resting innocently on the other man's waist.

Then there were those sprawled on the floor, not laughing or crying or even conscious for that matter. These were the sleepy drunks who couldn't hold their liquor and after two shots of the good stuff, passed out peacefully (or close to being peacefully in a crowded room full of loud music, loud drunk people, and just loud everything) in oblivion on the closest flat surface. Which is usually the floor.

Harry is just glad there is carpet.

But then, there is Draco Malfoy who was lounging on the sofa, slim yet muscled form taking up the entire surface, not allowing anyone else to intrude in his space. The hand holding the wine was gesturing in some fashion to support whatever point he was making, but even with the rapid motions, no sloshing or spilling occurred. Harry was amused to find that half of the room was sitting in the vicinity of the blonde, watching with rapt attention, although he doubted any of them were actually getting what Draco was talking about.

And then, _it_ happened.

Harry watched with fascination as the blonde suddenly tipped the entire content of his wine glass into his mouth, Adam's Apple bobbing as he swallowed the liquor. A few drops slipped out of the corner of his mouth, slowly rolling down one cheek, slipping beneath his jaw and then sliding down the graceful arc of his throat. It trailed teasingly between the collars of his silk shirt, then resting briefly on the protrusion of his collarbone before disappearing completely into the pale skin.

Harry swallowed thickly, watching as the blonde finish his drink, and the dark haired man wondered if someone spelled everything to be in slow motion because surely Draco did not spend the next two minutes staring into Harry's eyes while his tongue traced out an inviting path on his lips. Harry found that he very much wanted to take on that invitation and find out just exactly how wine taste on pale skin.

At that moment, Harry Potter realized that Draco Malfoy is very much a sexy teasing drunk.


	5. Pride

**Drabble #5: **Pride

**Word count: **970

**Warning: **angst, and sort of abused!Draco. Nothing particularly bad though. No Harry.

* * *

Draco Malfoy has his pride.

When his father, the great Lucius Malfoy, the most dignified and cunning Malfoy in the history of all Malfoys, had observed with scornful disappointment and cutting words that _You have done nothing right since your birth, _and _Why am I the father to such a pitiful thing,_ Draco had dug his skinny child fingers into his Malfoy pride and did not shed a single tear, and instead just promised to try harder next time, do better next time, so that the Malfoy pride will not be passed on to such a useless thing as himself.

When the skinny, knobby kneed little boy with the prettiest green eyes from Madam Malkin's rejected Draco's offer of friendship, when Draco stomped away with a wave of humiliation, when he heard the laughter of the Weasel and that Potter boy behind him, he held his head high and held on to his Malfoy pride like a lifeline and reminded himself that Malfoys will not extend their friendship a second time, and all those who rejected the Malfoys will suffer the consequences. Even if that person is the Boy Who Lived. Even if Draco had seen the same kind of loneliness in those bright green eyes.

When the Sorting Hat had, for just an instant said to him _Hmm, a very bright lad, you'd do well in Ravenclaw, _and Draco had ripped the damned thing off his head in horror and dread and shame, and when he heard with unbelieving ears as it cried _Slytherin!_ he had grinned not in relief, but in pride, because for the first time it seemed like he had done something right for a change. But when he took a seat at the Slytherin table and looked at the faces of his new housemates, he felt his pride tremble, just a little, before he grinned and acted like he knew all along that he would be sorted into the House his father had been in when he was a boy.

When his father had said to him _You have no choice in the matter, you will join the Dark Lord, and you will do as I say_, Draco had felt trapped like a rodent in a mousetrap, waiting for the cat to come and play with him, bat him around like a toy before eating him with relish. But he had his Malfoy pride, and so he did not scream, did not cry, did not whimper or let a single plea fall out of his lips, because those actions are undignified and shows a lack of pride. So he did none of those things, even though he wanted desperately to act like the child that he was, and instead clutched his pride and pretended to be an adult who had merely chosen to become the Dark Lord's toy.

When he finally broke away from the Death Eaters and joined the side of the light, he was treated with disrespect, with harsh words and cutting jabs, with snakes thrown at his bed and clothes ripped to shreds. When he was ostracized from his housemates and scrutinized with suspicion by those who claim to fight against Death Eaters, he hugged his pride and comforted himself with the thought that this is nothing compared to the Cruciatus, the Imperius, and all the Avada Kedavra the Dark Lord had made him cast.

When Dumbledore called Draco to his office and told him in a solemn voice that Voldemort had tortured and killed his mother in response to Draco's defect, the youngest Malfoy decided that he will not be broken by anyone, not by his father nor by the snake tyrant, and consoled himself with the knowledge that the sad little woman with the vacant smile and empty eyes, with the pale skin constantly marked by bruises, with the sweet voice that used to sing him lullabies before they had gone hoarse with screams, was already broken by Lucius Malfoy long before the Dark Lord took the Cruciatus to her already shattered body.

When Draco faced his father for the first time in years on the final battle ground of the War, and Lucius had sneered with contempt and said that Draco is not, and had never been, a Malfoy, and that he was merely the bastard child his mother was carrying, and Lucius had graciously taken them in after the shame Narcissa had brought to her family, Draco held on to his pride. Although he had found out he was not a Malfoy after all, he realized that his pride is not so weak as to crumble under a name.

When Lucius Malfoy raised his wand to cast the killing curse, thinking that this boy he believed he had broken ages ago will not retaliate, nor dodge, nor do anything except beg for mercy, Draco decided that he must retaliate, must dodge, and will never beg, because he still has his pride, even if it wasn't the Malfoy's pride, and his pride was just as potent, just as strong. So Draco dodged and rolled and avoided the killing curse, avoided the Crucio and the Imperio, deflected the dark magic Lucius Malfoy was sending his way with the same protection charms and reflection spells he had learned when he was under the tutelage of the Malfoy family, and then had raised his own wand and sent out the same killing curse he had learned under the Dark Lord himself.

And when Lucius Malfoy fell, so did the entire Malfoy lineage because, after all, Draco was never a Malfoy since the beginning. But he still had his pride, Malfoy or not, and so he clutched it desperately and did not cry or rage or curse the world for being so unfair.

Because after everything, his pride is all he has left.


	6. Girly Jeans

**Drabble #6:** Girly Jeans

**Word count: **830

**Warning: **uh, Draco's denim-clad arse is basically the main warning, and Harry being pervy.

**Note: **set some unknown time into the future, and Draco and Harry have moved in together. Of course, unbeta-ed. Since when are my stuff ever beta-ed:\

* * *

When Draco Malfoy announced at dinner that he want to go to a Muggle shopping center to buy Muggle clothes, Harry had stared at him blankly for five minutes, mouth hanging open and fork still hovering in mid air where it had stopped half way to this mouth. It was only when Draco's expression changed from waiting to annoyance that Harry finally snapped out of his daze, because he knew the next words from the blonde would be _you, couch, tonight!_ and if Harry's stupid enough to let the other man to say that, well, then maybe Harry deserves the couch.

"Shopping," Harry blinked for a few seconds. "Muggle shopping. What brought this on?"

Draco sniffed and cast a glare at the dark haired man. "Nothing." He frowned darkly down at his salad. "Just, Granger said something about me knowing nothing of Muggle style."

Harry turned out the rest of Draco's muttering about Hermione and raised an eyebrow. Last time he talked to the woman, she had in fact mentioned something about Draco and his too upscale Wizard fashion which made him stood out like a sore thumb the few times he was forced to go to Muggle areas for his work. _Maybe he does need some casual Muggle clothes,_ Harry thought, looking at the blonde on the other side of the table in their living room, wearing classy gray slacks and pressed button-down shirt which happens to be the highest Wizarding fashion at the moment. Harry snorted silently to himself – it's like Draco to be eating dinner at their comfortable home and be wearing clothes formal enough for a business meeting at the same time.

"So, I'm going tomorrow," Draco said loudly, daring the other man to contradict his decision. Both knew that Harry would have work the next day, while it was Draco's day off, so he will not be able to accompany Draco on the trip to the Muggle world. For Draco to still say he want to go must mean he's pretty desperate to know the "Muggle style."

Still, Harry sees no reason why Draco can't go by himself. Unlike some other people, such as Ron and Arthur, Draco actually has a sense of fashion. Harry thinks that Draco maybe has too much of a sense of fashion, but in this case, at the very least it means Draco won't be coming home wearing orange and white hawaiian shirt and blue board shorts.

Harry paused to let a brief image of Draco in nothing but a pair of tight navy blue board shorts run through his head.

"Uh, yeah, sure, go ahead," he coughed, chasing the image away hastily. Draco smiled brightly in satisfaction, and Harry was reminded once again why he moved in with the blonde.

So it was the next day when Harry drove his Muggle car to the nearest Muggle shopping mall in order to drop Draco off. He figured that Apparating to the center of a busy mall is just asking for a splinching, so even though he knew he might be a bit late to work, being safe is always better than being sorry.

By the end of the day, Harry had already pushed the thought of Draco shopping to the back of his mind. The meetings were brutal, the clients extremely uncooperative, and Harry was more than glad for it all to be finally over. So when he pushed open the door to the small apartment he and Draco was sharing, he was definitely not ready for the sight his eyes are being assaulted with.

Draco turned when he heard the thump of a briefcase, the clatter of a wand, and the crunch of a French bread hitting the ground. "Dinner will be ready soon, just set the bread on the table for now," he instructed, turning back to whatever food he was preparing. Meanwhile, Harry just stood there and stared, brain having gone completely haywire.

Draco was wearing jeans. But more than that, he was wearing _tight_ jeans. Jeans that usually men do not wear. In fact, looking at the flared bottom and the trail of red sequins running along the back pockets of the blue jeans, Harry was almost horrified to realize that these were _women's_ jeans. He realized a second later that of course Draco wouldn't know that men usually don't wear extremely tight jeans, and that red sequins, pink ribbons, glitter and the such, are usually reserved for the jeans made for girls. Draco bent over the open fridge for a moment, and Harry's jaws dropped, because women's jeans or not, they were _tight_.

Tight denim-clad arse waving cheerfully right in front of him.

Harry swallowed hard. He decided that Draco must not be allowed to go shop in Muggle stores by himself ever again, because Harry just might not survive the result of the next trip.

But maybe Draco can keep at least this pair of blue jeans. Even if they were made for girls.


	7. The Moon Shines For You

**Drabble & ½ #7: **The Moon Shines For You

**Word count: **1564 (oops)

**Warning:** none, beside it being a bit long for a drabble

**Note:** reincarnation, unbeta-ed. I need a beta.

* * *

"You know, you look like Harry Potter," Sarah had commented. At the time Henry hadn't thought too much of what she said, mainly because he completely slept through the entire lecture and therefore had not seen the photos and paintings that everyone else had gawked over. But curiosity, and the realization that the material would undoubtedly be on the next exam, eventually led Henry to the library, and he found an entire room dedicated to the accounts and facts of the Serpent War. Henry had not really known where exactly to start, so he had randomly picked up a thick old book from the top shelf and flipped open the cover.

Henry saw himself staring back out of the page, and had dropped the book.

When he picked it up again and scrutinized the picture, he noted that it wasn't moving, unlike other wizarding photos and paintings. Harry Potter had a kind of wild and untamable dark hair, and striking green eyes hidden behind thick black lenses. Henry's hair was just as wild, but in a lighter shade; his eyes were just as green, but he does not wear glasses or contacts. Harry Potter had a strong and handsome face, but seemed a little sad, a little unsure. Henry's face is also handsome, as he had been told, but he had hardly gone a day without laughing with his two best friends, Sarah and Renauld, and had yet to experience that kind of deep sated sadness expressed on the face of man on the book.

Harry Potter had a lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. Henry's brow was clear and unmarked.

Henry had thought someone was playing a joke on him, and had pasted his picture in the book, except it wasn't him after all, but rather a man who had saved the world from a war that was going to destroy everything. A man who had died more than eight hundred years ago.

From that point on, Henry developed an obsession with finding out about the events from long before he was born. He found out that Harry Potter had two best friends who had accompanied him and supported him throughout the war, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. Henry was both relieved and disappointed to note that of his own two friends, Sarah was extremely smart but had straight black hair rather than bushy brown, and Renauld was a blonde only child from a pureblood family. Harry Potter's parents were killed by the man who was the mastermind behind the war. Henry's parents were both alive, and although they were divorced they were still on friendly terms, and whenever Henry has a break from school, he'd stay with his mum for half the break, and his dad the other half. Harry Potter died two weeks into his final school year at Hogswarts. Henry is more than halfway through his final year at Hogswarts, and he is, thankfully, still alive and kicking.

The only real similarities between Harry Potter and Henry was their looks, and the fact that Henry is living up very well to Harry Potter's rule-breaking records.

But the more Henry read about Harry Potter and the Serpent War, the more fascinated he became. When ground breaking news on the Daily Prophet announced to the astonished world that Harry Potter's Pensieve, thought to be lost after the final battle, was found again with all the memories still intact, Henry thought his heart had stopped beating. Two months later found Henry standing in front of the Wizarding Museum of London, in line with crowds of other people who all came to see the artifact.

Henry was nervous, excited, agitated and eager all at the same time. He had to wait nearly an hour to just be let into the room that held the Pensieve, and had felt frustration and annoyance building up at the babble around him, but the Pensieve gleamed in the corner of his eye and he felt a peace he had never felt before stole over him.

Henry had stood there in front of the glass case, ignoring the jostling and noise, and he thought he had passed out, because one minute he was standing, the next he was drifting down into darkness and swirling silver mist. When he came to, he was lying in a field of moonlit grass and soft breeze, wisps of clouds floating overhead, barely tangible. The oval of the moon, merely two or three days until it becomes completely round, was as bright as a burning lamp, and with the light of this moon Henry saw that there was another man sitting beside him.

Henry raised his eyes, raised his hand to touch his own face, and realized with a start that he was wearing a pair of thick black lenses and there was a jagged scar on his forehead. The body next to his shifted, and Henry looked to the side to see gleaming pale hair turned silver white under the moonlight, and a face so sad, so beautiful that it resembled a masterpiece carved from the whitest marble to depict someone who is about to loose their most precious person.

Henry felt his hand move without his conscious decision to do so, and cup one soft cheek. He felt his eyes close on its own, the decision of the man whose body Henry is lying in, even as he tried to resist if only to catch one more glimpse of the ethereal face. He felt his lips curve in a content smile, feeling the breeze move the grass around him and the soft skin under his rougher hands. He felt the other man's hand lay over his, and listened as the man started to hum softly a song that he had never heard before.

_La lune, mon amour, brille pour toi._

And Harry Potter had closed his eyes and slept, knowing that in twenty four hours he might not be alive any more. But for this moment he had Draco by his side, his voice flowing over his consciousness, and the moonlight and the breeze over this field of utter peace. And so he closed his eyes, so Henry closed his eyes, listening to the song until it faded and the darkness faded, and when he opened his eyes again, he was standing in the Wizarding Museum of London in front of the Pensieve of Harry Potter, with the knowledge that he had just saw something profound and private, something that he knew not even the researchers had been able to uncover.

Henry felt a sense of loss, because he knew that Harry Potter had in fact died the next day, or if he hadn't, then he died a few days after, or a few months, but he did not survive long enough to see the war's end. Perhaps he did not live long enough to see the blonde man again. And perhaps Henry will never see him again.

But before Henry could really start to feel sorry for himself for falling in love with a man from eight hundred years ago, a tap on his shoulder brought him around in surprise. Henry blinked, green eyes unhidden behind glasses widening as he faced a man who looked no older than Henry himself, with pale blonde hair and silver eyes half hidden behind thin silver wire frames. Thin pink lips quirked up into an amused smile, and Henry felt himself flush, breath rattling hoarsely in his throat.

"Sir, I noticed you were looking at Harry Potter's Pensieve," the man paused, crossing his arms across his slim body and Henry swallowed. "Did you know that there is an unconfirmed, yet widely held believe that if there exists a person who can look into the Pensieve of another person who had died, and the living one watches the memories in the Pensieve as if reliving the moment within the body of the owner, then that living person is the reincarnation of the one who had died?" Henry shook his head numbly, and the man smiled again.

"I'm Trynt, 32nd head of the Malfoy family, nice to meet you..." he paused, extending his right hand.

"Henry," Henry replied, automatically reaching out as well, and at the moment their hands connected Henry saw two boys, a blonde boy with sneering face but lonely eyes offering his friendship but rejected by a knobby-kneed little boy with green eyes and wild dark hair who had been too young to see the pain caused by the rejection. And Henry tightened his grip in the handshake, feeling like something had just changed, and he knew Trynt had felt it too because his eyes had lit up and softened.

"Well, Henry, Have you ever heard of a song called _La lune brille pour toi_?" Trynt asked, breaking the clasp and then grasping other man's arm to steer him out of the museum, and preferably to a dinner table somewhere. Henry followed, listening to the blonde's voice and feeling a sense of hope engulf him, because there is no war now, no Dark Lords bent on destroying them, no House conflict, no one to tell them that they must hate each other, nothing to tear them apart.

And as they exited the room, Henry felt something deep inside him snort and say fondly, _should have figured he'd be born back into the Malfoy family. _


	8. Hero

**Drabble #8:** Hero

**Word count:** 492

**Warning:** not much, my version of the day before the final battle.

**Note:** sort of a follow up/companion piece to drabble #7.

* * *

On the other side of the hill is a battleground. There were bodies on that battleground, because for some they do not care that their comrades are lying down there, and for the others, they were too afraid to be killed themselves, too scared of death to care about anything but themselves. So on the other side of the hill is a battleground of gnarled trees, red mud, naked stones, and dead bodies.

But on this side of the hill were flowers and grass and trees that still had green leaves. On this side of the hill, the moon shone brightly. On this side of the hill, Harry Potter lay on his back, staring up at the dark blue sky and the stars that were not brilliant enough to escape the light of the moon. On this side of the hill there was a warm breeze that didn't carry the scent of rotting corpses, and there was a silence that was not broken by screams and moans of dying men.

On this side of the hill, Draco Malfoy found Harry Potter lying on his back, staring up at the dark blue sky and the stars that could not be seen.

Draco sat down near the other man and said nothing, but he thought his expression, if Harry cared to look, said plenty enough.

"Don't look like that," Harry said, raising one hand to cup Draco's cheek. "There is nothing to be sad about." He closed his eyes, feeling the soft skin under his rougher hands. Strands of silver white hair brushed against Harry, tickling the inside of his wrist.

"No, I guess there isn't a lot to be sad about," Draco replied, hating how weak he sounds, hating the whine and the silent plea in his voice. "You just have to be hero to anything and everything, even though you're no more better than anyone else."

Harry smiled a little, feeling Draco nuzzle his hand despite his harsh words.

"You're such a fool," Draco finished, closing his own eyes.

For a few long moments neither said anything; Harry said nothing to agree or disagree, and Draco stayed silent, waiting for the other's words.

"Stay with me," Harry finally said, opening his eyes to look at Draco.

"You can't make me," Draco returned, almost petulantly.

"Just for tonight, stay with me. Please?"

Draco looked away, but Harry was pleased to feel a cool hand lay over his. "You don't see me moving yet, do you?"

Harry smiled and closed his eyes again, feeling the breeze on his skin, the grass and the flowers and the moonlight, feeling the soft skin under his hands and presence of the blonde man sitting next to him.

Tomorrow, Harry will go to the other side of the hill, to the battleground of rotting corpses and dying men, to become the hero of anything and everything. But for tonight, he slept and allowed Draco to be his hero.


	9. Promise

**Drabble #9:** Promise

**Word count: **313

**Warning: **uh, not much, beside the implication that they might do more if I kept writing.

**Note: **related to drabble #7 and #8, but I think this is the last of the drabbles related to the reincarnation theme. Only reason I wrote this was 'cause I realized, after writing #8, that I forgot to write the scenes the made me want to write #8 in the first place. Yeah I'm forgetful. Un-betaed and in need of more plotbunnies.

* * *

On that special night of wildflowers and grass, of warm breeze and bright moon blinding out the stars, Harry Potter had smiled and said to Draco, _We'll meet again, you'll see. It may not be tomorrow; it may not be years from now. I may not survive this war, Draco, but we'll meet again. I promise you that._ And then he had closed his eyes and slept.

A week later, Draco had stood by Harry Potter's crudely dug grave as everyone else walked or limped away, a sense of hope lingering in the air even as their hero lie in the earth. Because although Harry Potter had died, he took the Dark Lord down with him, and so they had not been wrong after all; Harry Potter had saved the world.

But as Draco stood there by Harry's grave, all he could think was, _You bloody bastard, how dare you leave first. But we'll meet again. When that happens, just you try to get rid of me; I'm never letting you go._

Eight hundred years later, Trynt Malfoy, 32nd head of the pureblood Malfoy family, felt an unshakeable urge to grab the dark-haired man standing in front of Harry Potter's Pensieve and never let go. But he is a Malfoy, urges or no, so instead of just grabbing the man, he talked and charmed the man to his favorite local restaurant and stayed there until late into the night.

And when the night ended he said_, My flat is just around the corner, why don't you come and have a cup of coffee._ The man, Henry, had agreed naively, but Trynt thought he saw a glint of mischief in those bright green eyes.

He wondered if it's considered undignified to lock Henry in his bedroom and shag him silly. He then proceeds to shrug and decided that he wouldn't know until he tried.


	10. Rum Cake

**Drabble #10:** Rum Cake

**Word count:** 147

**Warning: **uh, a pudgy!Draco, that's all. Mind, this is probably back when they were really young, like second or third year at best, so I'm sure Draco just looks cute than anything.

**Note:** I was REALLY bored, so this was the result. Very random. Beware.

* * *

Draco Malfoy realized rather belatedly one late night as he stuffed his mouth full of rum cake he stashed in his trunk, that there is a decided increase in eating, and a decided lack of exercise. Not that he's getting _fat_, mind you, because Draco Malfoy does not get fat, thank you very much. Just...chubby. Right.

So Draco Malfoy went back to his rum cake, eating purely because he was bored and couldn't fall asleep rather than any need of nourishment.

Two days later, Harry Potter stared at the blonde in amusement as Draco tried for his usual insults without much result, not when Harry was too busy laughing about the pudginess of the other boy's belly. "Malfoy. Have you been gaining weight?" Draco promptly shuts up, stared, and then stomped away.

In the subsequent months, one can always see a blonde blur on the Quidditch pitch.


	11. Smart Girl

**Drabble #11:** Smart Girl

**Word count:** 892

**Warning: **not much, beside animalistic sounds from inside the closet.

**Note: **uh, nothing? I guess it's pretty much AU considering the 6th book's already out.

* * *

Hermione Granger is a very smart girl and, unlike most very smart girls who were too busy congratulating themselves on their smartness, she is also a very observant girl. It's sort of hard to miss most of the things that happens in her year, especially when she's the best friend of two boys who seems to really like getting in trouble. But beside the obvious, she notices many other things as well, such as, oh say, one Ronald Weasley daydreaming in History of Magic and doodling little hearts with HG+RW all over his parchment without realizing he was doing any such thing. Or maybe Seamus and Dean laughing behind their hands because they, seated behind Ron, could see every single little detail written on the parchment. Or Lavender casting eyes at Draco Malfoy across the room.

Which is why Hermione was so vexed when she realized one bright and sunny (and boring) day half way through their sixth year, with the help of Lavender casting eyes an oblivious Malfoy, that the reason Malfoy didn't seem to notice Lavender is probably due to him only looking at Harry Potter. Glaring at Harry. And Harry, of course being the brave young Gryffindor, is glaring back.

And Hermione Granger, smart girl that she is, realized very belatedly that 1. Two teenage hormonal driven boys are glaring at one another, 2. Two teenage hormonal driven boys who are really quite gorgeous are glaring at one another, and 3. Two gorgeous teenage hormonal driven boys are sending sparks into the air with their eyes.

What was the term Lavender was telling her from that Muggle romance novel again? Oh yes, UST. Unresolved Sexual Tension.

Right.

This calls for some planning.

Two days later after Potions, Hermione was quite ready to execute her brilliant plan. If she doesn't hurry, the two very sexy teens, sexier still when they're snarling at one another like they want to tear their clothes off and do some very hormonal teenage things, might start a fire with the sparks from their eyes and bring the entire castle down upon their heads. As it is, Hermione's hair had already gotten fuzzier than before, a result of the one time she had to step in between to stop them, because if she didn't they might've decided to do indecent things right in the middle of the hall. Not that Lavender minded, of course.

So Hermione is now ready for her plan. Due to her careful planning, one Ronald Weasley is staying behind in Potion to clean up the mess up of his cauldron, and the two goons named Crabbe and Goyle are probably finding themselves waking up tied to a toilet in the girl's bathroom somewhere. Never let it be said that Hermione Granger is too straight-laced to be dangerous.

So it was a completely unaware Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter (unaware probably because when they stare into each other's eyes, they can see nothing else) who flew straight into an open closet, conveniently placed in the middle of the hallway. Hermione took a moment to admire her work – Draco sitting against the back of the closet and Harry lying snuggly between Draco's splayed legs, head pillowed against the blonde's stomach – and then with a swish of her wand, the door to the closet banged shut on eyes still closed from the pain of being slammed into a wall. Another swish of the wand changed the configuration of said closet so the two boys will have a much harder time of getting out.

A few seconds later, loud banging began to echo down the hall with overused vulgarity thrown every which way includes _Bloody hell, Hermione let us out of here!_ And _What the-you four-eyed freak, get your bloody elbow out of my face_, and a few general shouts of rage and frustration. Two minutes later, a sudden silence descended, and then a _different_ kind of banging started.

Hermione smirked smugly, and then raised an eyebrow at some of the sounds now leaking out of the closet and – good god, was that a _whimper_? A low growl, sounding disturbingly like one Harry Potter, and a breathless gasp from the other resident sex god later, Hermione decided that maybe the first years and second years are too young for this.

Just as she finished the silence charm over the closet, a tall red head ambled around the corner, eyes lighting up when he saw the girl still standing in the hall.

"Oi, Hermione!" Ron called, quickening his pace. "Where's Harry?"

"He went back to the dorm, said something about forgetting his Charms book," Hermione replied easily.

"Oh. Hey Hermione, why are you so red?" Ron blinked, confused.

"It's just, uh, hot in here." Hermione hastily grabbed Ron's arm, steering him down the hall. "Let's go, we're going to be late to class." Ron had already forgotten what he asked, because Hermione is holding his _arm_. Ron Weasley is in heaven. It wouldn't be until dinner when he realized that neither Harry nor Malfoy showed up to Charms.

As they walked away, Hermione cast one last smug look at the closet, looking so innocently serene in the middle of the hall. _I wonder when they'd realize that they have to pull the door to open it._

Hermione Granger decided that it pays to be a smart girl.


	12. Batty

**Drabble #12:** Batty

**Word count:** 780

**Warning: **uh, Dumbledore sees something he really doesn't want to see. Draco and Harry in a closet, beware.

**Note: **a sort of continuation from #11. I don't really like this one, actually, and I had a hard time writing Dumbledore, I kept expecting him to turn into a perverted old man. --;

* * *

Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class and Grand Sorcerer, has seen many, many things over his long life, both before Hogwarts and after. Seeing students necking in secret in the middle of the night isn't something extremely uncommon. Or rather, he had never really _seen_ anything, because Dumbledore still prefer to not witness such private things, but the living entity that is the Castle of Hogwarts tells him everything without fail. In the few times he did stumble across students, inevitably he would pull the memory out of his head and into his Pensieve to be dispersed, because he really doesn't need memories of his students snogging in the dark to disturb his contemplation of Tom Riddle, and whatever he might be up to.

The one time he forgot to pull the memories out of his head, he had a nightmare involving Tom Riddle in Dark Lord form, Lucius Malfoy, and handcuffs. To say that the Grand Sorcerer was disturbed would've been a complete understatement, and after waking up screaming bloody murder and making Fawkes screech in panic, he had promptly pulled the memory of the dream out of his head, and had a wonderful time scattering the silver mist to four winds.

One day Albus Dumbledore was making his frequent rounds in the castle, he came across a strangely placed closet in the middle of an empty hallway. Dumbledore and the castle are irreversibly linked, so it wasn't hard to realize that said closet doesn't really belong there. A closer scrutiny revealed the silence charm, as well as the tweaked transfiguration charm that changed the door of the closet from opening outward to opening inward.

Albus' eyes twinkled for a second, making a quick list of the students in all of Hogwarts who could've made such a genius change on an existing charm, and came up with only a hand-full.

Curious, Albus waved his wand, lifting the silence charm and abruptly strange noises began to emerge from the closed doors. Alarmed, the Headmaster undid the transfiguration and flung open the doors, and then froze in mid motion.

Against the back wall of the closet were two boys, one blonde with silver gray eyes, and the other dark haired with green eyes and a lightning bolt scar on his forehead. The dark haired one is currently pinning the blonde into the wall, hips grinding forward and thankfully covered by the school robes both boy still wore, and head bent over the blonde's pale shoulder. The blonde's eyes suddenly flung open at the abrupt light in the closet, hands that were previously desperately roaming over the other boy's body froze in shock.

Draco Malfoy stared up at the Headmaster of Hogwarts while Harry Potter continued to suck at his pale exposed collarbone, no doubt leaving a spectacular bruise there for Draco to try to cover up later.

Draco squeaked in panic and kicked out, sending Harry sprawling across the floor of the closet with a grunt. Harry looked up to snarl something, probably wondering why he was thus bodily attacked, and then froze with horror at seeing the old man at the door.

Albus blinked down at the scene for a few more seconds, then firmly fixed a smile over his face. "Well, your efforts at compromising House differences will be duly noted. But I'm afraid you really should take this somewhere more private, so five points from both of your Houses for indecent exposure. Really, you should both be careful that first years wouldn't accidentally stumble here." And with the frozen smile still fixed over his face, Albus Dumbledore calmly closed the doors.

Dumbledore continued down the hall in silence for a few seconds before the door to the closet abruptly banged open with a sound that resembled an explosion. A torrent of curses and vulgarity erupted from both teens as they desperately tried to fix their clothes and at the same time run down the hall far away from the Headmaster.

Albus Dumbledore had seen many, many things over his long life. And many of those things he saw, he took to a habit of pulling the memories out of his head and dispersing them, which resulted in somewhat scattered thoughts when he talk to people. Wanted or not these are still his memories that he's pulling out. Honestly, if he didn't have to see all these unwanted scenes, then maybe he wouldn't have to scatter his own memories. But unfortunately he does stumble across these scenes, and so Dumbledore resolved to immediately destroy the memory of what he just saw once he get back to his office.

Really, and they wonder why the Headmaster is so batty.


	13. On His Doorstep

**Drabble #13:** On His Doorstep

**Word count:** 625

**Warning:** none, literally nothing.

**Note:** uh, sort of AU I guess, and it's more of an opening to something else I wanted to write. So yeah, expect some related drabbles later on.

* * *

Harry Potter had never expected to see Draco Malfoy at his doorstep, not when the man had disappeared for two years, immediately after Harry had killed Voldemort. At the time Harry had wondered and worried over his disappearance, but the worry eventually changed to bitter disappointment. When Draco had revealed that he was a double agent working for the Order, much like Snape, and then had helped Harry kill the Dark Lord, Harry had been relieved. For once he did not have to mark another of his classmates as someone he must capture or kill. For once he could spare another life. When the war ended, Harry had wanted to spend more time with Draco, to get to know him and understand him, and also to satisfy his own confusing feelings in regards to the blonde. Harry had wanted to know.

But then Draco disappeared, and with him went Harry's hopes.

For two years Harry worked as an Auror for the Ministry, hoping that one day he would come across the last Malfoy heir again. At every raid, he would search the wizards maimed, tortured, or killed by the remaining Death Eaters, desperately praying that he wouldn't find a blonde head among the dead. At every mission, he would keep an eye out at the people he passed, wondering if Draco Malfoy was among those he had missed.

But the two year mark has come and gone, and Harry felt his hope fading away bit by bit as the clock ticked on. He had waited so long, and for what? A chance to finally understand an old enemy? Or was there something else he wanted? Even Harry himself didn't understand why he wanted to find the blonde so badly, but want or not, the Malfoy heir was putting up a good fight. It appears that if he didn't want to be found, there would be no trace of him at all. And so Harry gradually forced himself to stop turning at every flash of yellow on the streets. And so he gradually convinced himself that he doesn't care any more.

Harry Potter had never expected to see Draco Malfoy at his doorstep. The blonde looked thinner than two years ago, paler as if he hadn't seen the sun in months, and the blonde hair looked even more bleached white than it used to be. His gray eyes were darker and heavy-lidded, as if he was too tired to keep them open. He was well dressed, as befitting the heir of the entire Malfoy fortune, but somehow they didn't seem to fit very well.

Harry felt like he was standing in front of his house and staring at a stranger. It was decidedly unpleasant.

But then, the blonde had looked up, finally noticing the presence of the dark haired man, and then his lips, a bit thin but still pink, curved up into his trademark smirk. "Well, well, if it isn't Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived." He made a big deal of looking Harry up and down, arms crossing casually across his chest. "Well, not much of a boy any more, I'm afraid."

Harry flushed, suddenly feeling a rush of relief coming over him. This was the sarcastic man he used to know. This was truly the man he had spent two years searching for, all snarky words and pale skin and blonde hair.

Draco sniffed. "Well? Aren't you going to invite your guest in?"

Harry grinned, an excitement he had not felt in over two years washed over him. He flung open his doors, and then bowed down low at the waist, feeling a little silly yet he was compelled to do it anyway. "Welcome to my humble abode."

And Draco Malfoy walked in.


	14. Moments

**Drabble #14: **Moments

**Word count:** 265

**Warning:** none

**Note: **somewhat follow up to the previous drabble. This was my original idea involving a Draco that disappeared for 2 years and then suddenly turning up, but somehow the other one decided to hit me in the head and wouldn't let me write this scene without the proper background. At least it's here now.

* * *

Harry wasn't expecting much when Draco showed up at his doorsteps. He had hopes when Draco somehow wormed his way into staying with him, but they weren't bright hopes. He wasn't expecting years of hatred, years of animosity, to just go up in flames even if Draco had turned out to be a double spy for the Order. He wasn't expecting a lifetime of bad intentions be erased by the blonde's two years of disappearance, even if the disappearance only made Harry more conscious of how important the other man had turned out to be for him.

Harry wasn't expecting offers of deep friendship, or sharing of personal feelings. He wasn't expecting Draco to suddenly open up and pour out all the secrets of his childhood. He wasn't even expecting Draco to explain why and where he disappeared to for those two years; two long years that had Harry running every which way for clues.

But he figured it's alright, because he wasn't expecting all that much anyway. Because watching the blonde sleep now, lying on the couch in the living room as if he was waiting for Harry to come home late from work, Harry realized that all those expectations didn't matter all that much. Watching the rise and fall of Draco's chest, steady whispers of breath passing through his lips, still somewhat thin cheeks pressing against the armrest and lamplight casting a warm glow over his features, Harry didn't feel so lonely any more.

And he decided that moments like these are far more important than any secrets he had hoped to reveal.


	15. Stupid Chickens

**Drabble #15:** Stupid Chickens

**Word count: **439

**Warning:** none, Ron

**Note: **follow up to the line started by Smart Girl, and written for my deep hidden joy at seeing Harry and Draco locked together to do naughty things.

* * *

Ron Weasley wasn't the smartest man in the world, but when he gets slapped in the face with the obvious, he knew when to call a chicken and chicken and be done with it. Granted he didn't have to like one of the chickens. Or like what the chickens were doing. Or chickens at all, for that matter.

Right, the matter stands that Ron Weasley was very much annoyed for being delayed on his journey to his well deserved hot meal, since his entire Saturday (Saturday!) was taken up by dusty textbooks and ink and parchments and a fuming Hermione with her _Ronald Weasley, if you dare to fail the next Potions exam I _will_ strip you naked, skin you alive, and hung you out by your legs for the Slytherins to crow over! _

Therefore Ron Weasley was not in a very good mood, even if the bushy haired girl next to him seemed to be particularly chipper after a day of good reading and work. Which was why when his best mate Harry and the school's biggest git Malfoy started to bristle at each other in the middle of the hall, glaring and snarling and basically doing everything that would keep Ron from his food, patience became a thing of days long past.

Never let it be said that Ronald Weasley was a man too choked by grudges to call a chicken a chicken, even if he dislike chickens. That's why when he realized somewhat belatedly that they were standing in the hall with the Room of Requirements, his thoughts were surprisingly focused on _a big room with a big bed, fireplace, carpets and whatever else that these two bloody gits can want or need,_ and he was probably the only one who was not surprised when the door to the room suddenly appeared and opened with an audible pop, like a present on Christmas.

Without ceremony, Ronald Weasley took a booted heel to both Harry and Draco's backside, and if his boots left a far deeper mark on the blonde's arse than on Harry's, well no one cared after the door closed anyway.

_Four hours,_ Ron thought deeply, _those two needs to stay in there for at least four hours._ The door to the Room of Requirements promptly disappeared without a trace, taking with it the pounding and the yelling. Ron snorted. _That better be enough time for them to bugger each other to their hearts content._

Ron then turned on his heel, dragging a still shocked and blinking Hermione in his wake, muttering under his breath, "They better not be serving chicken tonight. Stupid bloody chicken."


	16. Ambition

**Drabble #16: **Ambition

**Word count: **414

**Warning: **none

**Note: **can be taken as a companion piece to Pride.

* * *

People thought that Harry Potter has no ambition. After all, how can a person whose entire life's purpose was the destruction of a single enemy, have any ambition for life beyond? Most, Harry included, even believed that he won't survive the encounter; therefore having an ambition is pointless, and a waste of his time which could be used to plan some kind of miraculous counterattack against Voldemort.

But whether Harry believed he will survive or not, to him there was something more important. He wouldn't call it an ambition exactly; it was more like a goal, a strong wish that sometimes makes his heart ache with its strength.

Harry doesn't have any illusion about his role; he doesn't believe that he will be spared of death when the time comes for him to face the Prophecy. But even if someone tells him that he definitely will die, he will not give up his goal.

Harry wants, desperately, to live. He wants to live beyond the moment he faces the Dark Lord, beyond the final battle that is said to take both him and his enemy, beyond the war. He wants to live a normal life, make new friends, have nice dinners, and laugh with the old buddies. He wants a steady job that will bring him to his cozy home at the end of the day, and eat home made dinners. Maybe there will even be someone special to wait for him when he gets off work late.

He thinks that he want that special someone to be blonde. White blonde hair and silver eyes. Pale skin, soft lips, and a snarky and sarcastic tongue. A person who is vulnerable yet unfailingly strong at the same time; someone who had seen the things Harry had seen, and understands the pain caused by a common enemy. He wants that someone to stop hurting, to be able to look back into the past with sadness but finality, to be able to see the present and laugh without falsity, to contemplate the future with a sense of hope rather than despair.

Harry Potter wants to live, because he has a goal. It may not be so grand as an ambition, but he still wants to survive to reach that target.

If he could continue his life he wants to show Draco Malfoy that there is still someone who cares. He wants to tell him that his pride, however strong, is not the only thing he has left.


	17. Save Me

**Drabble #17: **Save Me

**Word count:** 882

**Warning: **not much, just angsty!Draco.

**Note:** uh, this one's sort of incomprehensible, sort of really jumbled up and incoherent. I guess it sort of matches what Draco himself is thinking, because believe me, I don't think his mind is very stable if he thinks about stuff like this. Still I feel sort of bad having to make people read stuff like this.

* * *

Draco hates him so very much.

It's not that the blonde still believe Potter to be some lord-ling when he's not at school; he isn't that foolish. The information on the abuse and mistreatment Potter receives at his Uncle's home is widespread common knowledge, usually whispered in horror and pity behind the Boy Wonder's back. Draco, even with this knowledge, has never hated anyone like he hates Harry Potter.

Why is it that even surrounded by loss, by abuse, surrounded by those who wishes to harm him, how is it that even when Potter is faced with the impossible and the truly dangerous, even then he is happy. Why is it that with all the suffering Potter had to go through, he could still smile and laugh with the rest of his House. Why is it that Potter could laugh, but Draco, surrounded only by the best of the best, surrounded by money-ed nobility and aristocrats of the High Wizarding World, why is it that Draco could never find it in himself to simply smile.

Why is it that pitiful Weasle could be so brave and courageous in the face of danger; why is it that he could be so utterly dumb and stupid and moronic, obtuse, rash, senseless, simple-minded, witless, doltish, and slow and yet be so completely loyal to Potter that he would walk through fire if it could help the Boy Who Lived. Why is it that he would give up his life, his entire future, for Potter, while Draco, who had been promised true loyalty, intelligent men and women who swore to die in his place, why is it that Draco only had Crabbe and Goyle, who were loyal to him only because they were too brainless to realize that when their fathers told them to be "loyal" to Draco, they meant loyalty until they could find some detail to backstab the Malfoy family.

Why is it that dirty, disgusting of a mudblood, why is it that she's so contemptibly smart and intelligent and be at the top of all her classes when she had nothing at all, no pure blood, no connections, no money and high-class home education before Hogswarts. Why is it that even at the top of the top, this frustratingly incomprehensible mudblood girl dare to look back and extend a helping hand at her two imbecilic friends, the Weasle and Potter both, and the three of them still could be happy together through all the hardships. Why is it that she, a result of a union between a person of magic and a person who had none, could be so brilliant, when Zabini, who is as pure-blood of a wizard as any pure-blooded wizard there ever was, couldn't even hold a candle to the mudblood's roaring flame. Why is it that she, who is light-years ahead of Potter, would stop and help him even though she could do so much more, be so much more ahead if she kept going, when Zabini would rather step on all those below him if he ever become even remotely as bright; why is it that Draco have to work to stay at the top and stomp down all those around him, just so he could be sure that no one will try to keep him down.

Why is it that all those in Potter's House, why is it that Thomas and Finnigan and Longbottom could still be so friendly with Potter, still laugh with him and protect him even when they know very well the danger in associating with the boy whom the Dark Lord himself want. Why is it that these unrelated strangers would risk everything to protect a boy who had absolutely nothing, while Bulstrode and Parkinson and Nott would abandon Draco at the first sign of trouble, even though they were all pure-bloods, all Slytherins, and more oftentimes than not, all related in some way, tracing back to their grandparents or great-grandparents who had intermarried to keep the line true.

Why is it that Potter, who had to live through so much pain and loss and still come out shining, while Draco who had food and clothing and money plenty, who had Ministry Heads as his private tutor, finds himself utterly crushed and buried beneath the darkness of his name.

Draco finds himself hating Potter, and he could not stop.

Why is it that Potter would spend half of his lifetime putting his entire being on the line so he could rescue an entire world of strangers in odd robes and queer hats, when Draco, whose entire life _is_ the Wizarding World, could not lift a single finger in retaliation against what's being done to it, and could only hope and pray that Potter would be successful.

Draco hates Harry Potter.

Why is it that Potter would go to such far lengths to protect a single person, but he refuse to extend a hand toward Draco?

Draco hates Harry.

Why is it that Harry saved the entire Wizarding World from the Dark Lord, yet he would only give Draco a sad look?

Draco hates Harry, because despite all the people he had saved, why is it that the only one he refuses to save is Draco, who only wanted to be saved from himself.


	18. The Color Red

**Drabble #18: **The Color Red

**Word count: **770

**Warning: **cutting, depressed!Draco, suicidal!Draco, basically a nonhappy!Draco. Be warned, there's a lot of depressing and bloody stuff in this one.

**Note: **About 80 of this is actually from a long time ago, long before I decided to do drabbles. But this was supposed to be a drabble, I think, so I did a bit of editing, changed the direction it was going, and added an appropriate ending. Not a very happy thing, but it's alright I guess. Next up, I swear I'll put up something happier.

* * *

Red is such an ugly color. It's too bright, half of the time, and too gaudy, like a cheap whore around the street corner. And at other times, it's too dark, too murky, like something too filthy to behold.

Draco Malfoy had always hated the color ever since he was old enough to perceive color and knew what they are. He hated it the moment he saw it staining his mother's milk white skin when she had accidentally cut herself with the envelope knife. Even on flowers, those flowers that everyone loved so much, it appeared to him like a cheap tawdry thing.

Women seem to love that color, though for what reason he could never understand. Nail polish, lipstick, rogue, everything was based on that color. Maybe that was why he thought women were all whores. Except his mother. His mother hated that color as much as he did.

That's why he always did it at night, when everything was so dark that he can never tell what color things are. Sometimes when there was a moon outside his window, he would imagine that the blood was in fact a liquid silver color rather than the vivid crimson that he despised so much. And sometimes, in a way, he almost hoped that with the darkness masking him, he could imagine that it had never happened, that the morning would never bring to him another pale scar on his flesh.

He was no older than six years old when he first saw his father cutting himself. He was a curious child then, not weighted down by knowledge or pain, only a driving curiosity that is so typical of young children. He saw his father carrying a bundle of towels and walking quickly down the stairs toward his private study. Draco followed. And when he peered into the dimly lit room, he saw the ugly red color marring his father's skin and robes, and his father holding the silver dagger that created the wound on his flesh.

He was too young to understand what was happening, but he realized that his father would be mad at him if he knew he was watching. So he left without a sound, leaving his father still in the study, dripping blood over the towels that were spread across the desk. Later, when he asked his mother what his father was doing, she smiled sadly and said, "Sometimes the pressure is simply too much. Sometimes the only way to relieve the mental pain to is to use the physical pain to drive it away. And sometimes, sooner or later, even that won't be enough anymore."

The child he was did not understand what she meant. The adult he is now understands all too well. When the pressure builds up to a boiling point, when the precise slashes that left gaping wounds on bared skin no longer releases that pressure, what can one do? Press harder on that silver blade, cut deeper, keep the edge keen and bright and don't lift the blade until there is a long, long wound that gushes out a deep red.

But it's still not enough, not enough, and so he cut deeper, ever deeper until the pain is all he knows. And he would leave the wound open longer, watching with mild revulsion the red that still seeps out even as he feels himself go dizzy from the blood loss.

Some day Draco Malfoy might leave the wound open too long, ignore the dizziness for too long, and he would fall, collapsing sideways into the pool of his own blood that he would let drip onto the dark ground. He would keep his eyes open, watching as the red soaked into his robes, soaked his blonde hair until it becomes a golden scarlet, feel the viscous fluid stick to his pale skin. He would still breath, but the puffs of air would come shorter, faster. Draco would find himself unable to care, even as he feel the burning on his arm, a pain that would almost, but not quite, chase away the pain that is in his mind. It still wouldn't be enough.

But he would have no choice then, and there was nothing anyone else could do. And Draco would be glad, glad that for once, when the blood is cleaned up by the others, when his body is lying in a coffin, when that happens the pain would no longer come back. He would be happy then.

But until that day comes, Draco Malfoy will continue the ritual, once a day, until the welcomed day of reckoning comes.


	19. Too Late To Regret

**Drabble #19: **Too Late To Regret

**Word count: **497

**Warning: **deathfic I suppose. Not very happy again, and related to #18.

**Note: **Aaah, I promised last time to write something happy, but I guess you really can't control muses. I'll try harder for something happier next time! Honest!

The first time Harry Potter stumbled across Malfoy cutting himself, he had been utterly sickened. He saw the white towel lying on the desk, soaked by the blonde's blood. He saw the glinting knife, blade still half covered with the liquid that was human life. He saw the pale, pale arm, extended over the desk and unmoving, letting the blood drip, drip, drip out of his body. Malfoy did not notice Harry, half hiding behind the slightly opened door, so Harry walked away, shaking his head in revulsion.

The second time Harry saw Malfoy cutting, he was disgusted. He was disgusted with the blonde's lack of willpower, disgusted with his lack of strength to control his own actions, disgusted with the boy, period. He was disgusted by the blood pooling into a dark red puddle on the dungeon floor, disgusted with the knife that was still half buried in his flesh, disgusted with the utterly limp and bowed head, the same head that was held up so proudly mere hours before.

The third time Harry saw Malfoy, he was confused. He was confused as to why Malfoy had to cut himself. He was confused with the way he constantly came across the blonde without the other boy knowing, and always when Malfoy was doing that unspeakably horrendous thing to himself. He was confused, confused by the fact that no matter how many times he witnessed this, the blonde never turned around, never noticed his presence. He was confused as to why he was suddenly starting to care.

The fourth time Harry saw Malfoy, he was angry. He was angry with the way Malfoy chose to handle the pain, angry with the blonde's parents for letting him do this, angry with the other Slytherins for not realizing what the boy was doing. He was angry with the world for putting Malfoy in a situation where he felt only one pain could block out the other. And he was angry, angry with himself for not being brave enough to sweep into the room and take that knife away.

The fifth time Harry saw Malfoy, he was afraid. He was afraid of what was happening to the other boy. He was afraid that the scars are all permanent, not only on the flesh but on the inside as well. He was afraid that one day he might not get a chance to tell Malfoy everything he wanted to say, all the hurt and anger caused by the blonde, and all the other emotions he buried beneath the anger because he wasn't supposed to harbor those feelings for his rival. He was afraid for Malfoy. But he said nothing, did nothing, because despite all he had seen, he was also afraid for himself. He was still too afraid of rejection.

The sixth time Harry saw Malfoy, the boy was lying in his coffin. Harry Potter realized too late that time waits for no one, and he was only left with regret.


	20. The Secret Fantasies of

**Drabble #20: **The Secret Fantasies of

**Word count: **1235

**Warning: **uh, Harry, the wolf mind you, being a little pervy? Ron and Hermione getting it on!

**Note: **a little on the long side, but I guess it's just as well since I haven't updated in a while. As promised, something more lighthearted on the past few entries.

Once upon a time there was a young wolf named Harry, who was a very content wolf. He has two rabbit friends, Ron and Hermione, and a cozy little cottage out at the edge of the forest. He has clean water from the river, and plenty of wood for his nice fireplace, so he never smelled bad, or froze in the middle of the winter. Harry even has a big, huge, king-sized bed with red silk sheets and fluffy pillows to roll around in.

All in all, Harry was a very content little wolf.

But Harry was not perfectly happy. Why? Because there was no one to share his big, huge, king-sized bed with red silk sheets and fluffy pillows!

Harry loved his two friends, but he often felt left out because Ron and Hermione, both being rabbits, love to do things that rabbits do. He even caught them trying to do their rabbit thing on his big, huge, king-sized bed with red silks! He chased them out of course, because his big, huge, king-sized bed was special, and made them do their rabbit thing out on the couch in the living room. Unfortunately, Harry did not get to sleep very much that night, having been forced to listen to his two friends, interrupting his sleep with various noises of grunts, moans, and banging against the wall where the couch sat.

Harry was happy for his friends, but their inability to keep their furs on when they were in the same room together was making Harry very irritated, since he decided long ago that he'd rather die than see his two best friends going at it like the rabbits that they were.

Harry was starting to feel lonely.

To distract him from his depressing thoughts, Hermione lent him her "Big Book of Kinky, Naughty Things You Want to Do With Your Honey-Bunny." Harry, being a virgin wolf, was awed and fascinated with the big picture book. He learned many, many things from the book, such as...well, we don't need to know that. In any case, despite the distraction, Harry could not help but still feel lonely, because even equipped with the very helpful and naughty information from the book he has no one to try it on!

Therefore, Harry was very sad.

One day, Harry decided to go out into the forest and collect some firewood for the winter. He came across something that made his heart stop in his chest.

"A little fox-boy," he cried with delight. The wolf-boy was curled in a fetal position on the cold ground, eyes closed in an uneasy sleep. Harry marveled at the beautiful fox's silky blonde hair, glowing like it collected sunlight from the air. He wondered if the fox-boy's faintly flushed skin was as soft as it looked. Suddenly the blonde fox opened his eyes, and Harry gasped at the silver orbs staring hazily back at him. Harry was mesmerized. The fox coughed, snapping Harry back into focus, and the wolf realized that the boy was sick!

"Oh no, being sick and out in the forest so close to winter, that's dangerous!" Harry exclaimed, and suddenly found himself an armful of warm, soft flesh in the form of a faintly teary-eyed little fox. Harry felt something stir, down there if you know what I mean, and the wolf happily groped the fox on the backside while sharing his body heat. "I know, why don't you come back to my cozy house with the fireplace and hot bath and my big, huge, king-sized bed with red silk sheets and fluffy pillows? Would you like that?" Harry asked, pulling back slightly. He felt his heart melt at the pretty, flushed face, while something else decided to harden as the fox licked his dry lips and nodded shyly.

Harry smiled and carried his new charge, and his previously collected load of firewood, back to his cozy and warm little cottage. The wolf took diligent care of the fox and nursed him back to perfect health on his big, huge, king-sized bed with red silk sheets. But even after the fox was all better Harry kept him busy in his comfortable bed anyway. That winter, Harry the wolf made good use of the "Big Book of Kinky, Naughty Things You Want to Do With Your Honey-Bunny" that Hermione lent him, and then made some new discoveries of his own with the help of his cute little blonde fox, whose name he learned to be Draco.

Harry was a very happy wolf for the rest of his long, wolfy life.

-----------------------

Draco's eyebrow twitched. The book dropped silently from his lifeless hand.

Draco's eyebrow twitched violently.

"ZABINI!" he bellowed, and the dark-haired boy appeared in the doorway after a few moments, confused. The Malfoy heir pointed a shaking finger at the innocent looking book on the floor in front of him like it was a Dementor, a mix of horror and rage on his countenance. "I want you to take that-that _thing _and burn it. Burn it, do you hear me!"

Blaise raised an eyebrow, bending down to pick up the leather-bound volume, with rich jewels encrusted on the top. The title, "Secret Fantasies of " was written in big loopy letters in between two of the jewels, with a line underneath. He had given the book to the young Malfoy as a birthday present two days ago. His aunt from America had developed a new type of fantasy-diary spell, whereupon if a book with that spell was tucked under the pillow of the person who wrote their name on the line on the cover, then by the next morning the owner's fantasy would be written on it for his or her own later enjoyment. The elegant scrawl of Draco Malfoy rest on the formerly empty line on the cover.

Blaise sighed, a little disappointed that he couldn't open the book. The spell ensured that only the owner, and the person or persons that is the focus of the owner's fantasy, could read the writings, so that the havoc created in the aftermath might not be as destructive. Unfortunately for Draco, Blaise' aunt also had a very wicked sense of humor on top of being a genius, because the spell also ensured that the book cannot be burned, shredded, or destroyed in any way except with special permission from the original manufacturer.

Permission for destruction is seldom, if ever, given.

Blaise shrugged, exiting the dorm room to slip the leather-bound volume into one of the shelves on Blaise' personal bookcase in the common room, the one that no one dares to touch in case they incurs the young Zabini's wrath. The dark-haired boy turned, going back to his reading on the couch, never noticing the book edging out and disappearing into thin air.

-------------

Harry Potter examined the bound little book curiously while sitting in the safe and private confines of his curtained bed. He gave himself a little pat on the back in congratulation for picking the right day to keep a closer eye on the Slytherins. He was starting to worry about the lack of tricks and activities from his enemy house, but now he will find out exactly what they got planned, through this little secret book that made Draco Malfoy scream in horror like a little girl.

Under the light of his wand tip, Harry Potter opened the book.


	21. Loose Ends

**Drabble #21: **Loose Ends

**Word count:** 638

**Warning: **angsty

**Note: **some kind of future setting, sort of AU since it implied stuff that never happened in the series. I was trying for a certain feeling, a specific message, but I think I failed. After writing it, and trying to edit it, somehow I couldn't get it to work. Sorry.

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Draco Malfoy doesn't like loose ends. They're the kind of things that would dangle aimlessly for a long time – days, months, years – and then suddenly come back and choke you to death. They tend to roll around and bite you in the ass, no matter how much you try to prevent it. Maybe you can call it karma; what goes around, comes around. Life is a cycle. There are no such things as loose ends.

Maybe that's why he is here now, standing in that quaint little church, watching the blushing bride in all her white glory walk down the aisle in the arms of her father, while the nervous groom watched on. Perhaps that is why he does not even look like himself, but rather in the guise of some random stranger he had never really known before, and the only reason he drank that Polyjuice Potion was because that person was some distant friend of the groom.

Draco Malfoy, perhaps, is desperate to attend.

After all, this is the wedding of Harry Potter, the greatest, most famous Wizard in all of Wizarding Britain. It would certainly be bad form for Draco to not show, even when no one would recognize him.

But why, why, why is he staring at the other man from across the room, eyes so focused as if trying to bore a hole through his head? Why is he desperately trying to catch the groom's eyes, hoping to see a spark of recognition? The groom didn't see him; there is no spark in his green, green eyes. His only focus is for his beautiful, red headed bride. Draco felt a short surge of irony in his own red headed disguise, but that surge is as short lived as many of his other emotions.

Happiness and contentment are only relative to how much unhappy things that happened in between; despair and emptiness are all the empty spaces between the short interruptions of non-despair. Draco finds that interruptions of happiness in his daily life are coming less and less frequently – his emotional roller coaster is very pathetically flat-lining.

But why is he here. Did he wish to jump start his life again, like in those Telly dramas where the doctor pumps the patient with electricity, and the flat beep goes back to that rhythmic pounding that is the heart? Is he really here for a closure, the tying of a loose end, or did he really come for a second chance at something he had lost a long time ago? He had given that little grain of happiness up for a chance to save the life of someone important. He saved the world, and in the process lost his gamble on being content. He is now here, in this little church, looking for a closure, and even when he knew it would never happen, he couldn't help but hope anyway.

But then, it's too late to think of anything at all, and the knots are tied are and there is nothing he could do, nothing anyone could do. The ceremony has ended and the groom, now a happy husband, never looked his way.

So Draco Malfoy stood up, smiled and waved and did all the things the man he is pretending to be should do. He let his heart scream and did nothing to save it from falling, and all the while he smiled and chattered and even gave the famous groom his best wishes. And then he left the happy couple; left the white church, left his disguise of a man he is not. He left his feelings, his heart, because when they fell in that little church, he did not bother to pick them back up.

After all, the loose ends are tied. There is nothing more he could do, except feeling empty.


	22. The Function Life as Harry maps to Draco

**Drabble #19: **Life: Harry -- Draco

**Word count:** 700

**Note: **The challenge was to write something using mathematical terms without LITERALLY refer to it. For example, I say "his life was truncated by her" rather than say "his life was truncated like how calculators truncate decimal numbers." In other words, more subtle and try to fit it better with English. Not sure how well I accomplished this, but I had fun. It's not my fault my stupid Electrical Engineering class is bashing at my head while I'm trying to think about H/D. All underlined are the obvious math terms I used, but there are also some not so obvious references; see if you can find them. And also see if you get how I used some of the more obvious ones (for example I mentioned functions and mapping, how did that apply to the line and situation I wrote about). The title, btw, should have an right arrow doesn't like weird symbols I guess) and can be read as "The function Life as Harry maps to Draco." Which means it's a function with a domain of Harry and range of Draco. It can also be written as Life(Harry) Draco.

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The night Harry Potter became the newest addition to the Potter family it was a truly joyous occasion for those involved. The night when his parents were subtracted from his barely started life, the event was too early for him to dredge up from the multitude of memories that overlaid it. His survival was fortunate, but never let it be said that Harry Potter lives a happy life. As a child, he was too young to trace through and understand the intricacy of what was happening. As he grew to his teenage years, problems accumulated and he could see no truncation except by the end of his own life. Yet while situations keep piling up on him, he finds that his newly gained friends keep being subtracted, divided out in heaps at the wand-end of a man who tried to kill him when he was a baby. His number of his fears squared even as the number of those whom he truly cared for keep square-rooting.

Harry Potter's life is a summation of increasing problems, fears, enemies, and a steady decrease of true friendship. He found it to be completely unfair, but the proof is unshakable.

As a young man, Harry found that sometimes one could use a different method to solve a problem. Sometimes he realized with a certain amount of relief that the solution he obtained earlier was wrong, and the answer wasn't so dreadful after all. But many times he knew that no matter which way he used to get his answer, the result was still so painfully obviously, painfully the same. That was the only reason he refused to cry at Ron's funeral, standing next to the equally stone-faced Hermione who herself knew that the equation holds true no matter how much she tried to shift the numbers.

As an adult, Harry found himself approaching ground zero as time goes on, never quite touching but also never on an increasing path. His enemy was dead, truncated abruptly by Harry's wand, but he realized that his friends were not coming back to life, so it hardly mattered. He was living in black and white, the only colors needed to graph the image of his life.

Harry married Ginny, hoping that she would reintroduce some kind of color back. They crossed their vows and intersected their lives, creating that cozy little house they called home. He thought they were meant to be together, his life leading inevitably to twine with hers. He realized too late that while he had hoped it to be true, while he forced his life to map to hers and create a functional family, somehow she could not. Their functional relationship fell apart, because she was not willing to map her life to his and his alone. Her infidelity broke the rules of marriage and family, and Harry lost all hope.

One day Draco Malfoy appeared on Harry's chart of life, and he learned that it doesn't have to be all black and white. Proofs can be counter-exampled, he found. Theories are only true until someone proofed it otherwise. Draco Malfoy waltzed in and told him with no uncertain terms that he is quite willing to map his own life to Harry's, so if Harry isn't willing, then he want to know about it now. Draco taught Harry that when walking through one's path in life, one should always use colors, because the lines are far easier to discern when it's color-coded.

Harry had thought that people are walking the same way toward life, but all the paths are only parallel to his own, never touching, never intersecting. Draco told him quite frankly that for all the those parallel paths that never touched his, there is also someone out there whose path is completely equal to Harry's, and their lives will overlap. When Harry asked whom that person might be, Draco rolled his eyes and then crushed their lips together. Afterwards, Draco asked him if he was always this dense, or if it was just the result of years of bad arithmancy professor.

From that day on, Harry Potter found his happiness to be increasing at a rate of e to the positive infinity. 


End file.
